A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228.

Eleven people remained missing. Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."The End of a Way of LifeEven before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories.

It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Broken Families and Dead ChildrenMany of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped.

Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.The RemainsAlessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress.

He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow.

His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna. Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America.

Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

-----------Basically, I tried to pick out what I found to be the four most interesting facts from this article and summarize them at the top in bullet points. From there, the reader can get more detail from the article itself. In the body text, I bolded what I thought were important facts and italicized strong images and accounts to help them stand out to scanners. Additionally, I broke up the paragraphs to be as small as possible, adding pictures and subheds to make the article more visually appealing. Finally, to add credibility and make the reader like me more, I linked out to several other interesting stories from other publications about the earthquake. I hope you find this layout to be worthy of the highest academic marks.

Italy Quake Toll Rises to 228As Italy mourns the devastation caused by last week's earthquake, weary citizens of some regions of the country, continue to rummage through piles of rubble, struggling to cope with tragic losses and put their broken lives back together.A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing. Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

Picking up the Pieces

Yet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories. It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Many of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

Scope of Destruction

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped. Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress. He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

A TimeFor Mourning

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna. Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

Formatting Synopsis:In order to put this story into a more online-friendly format, I made a few small changes. First of all, I wrote a story summary at the top. Online readers are usually less dedicated to reading an entire story than print readers. For that reason, I wanted to give readers the story in a nutshell so that they might be enticed to read it further.

I also placed in subheads so that readers can easily identify aspects of the story that pique their interest. The subheads also nicely break up the story so that the reader is not confronted by a sea of text on their screens.

The last thing I did was put a list of links to other coverage at the bottom to give the reader a chance to survey news from other publications.

A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing.

Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

A Diminishing Way of Life

Yet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories.

It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Many of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped.

Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress.

"I don't believe in miracles after this" - Allesandro Fiumara

He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7."It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

Deaths reach families everywhere

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna.

Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing. Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

Onna

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo dePaudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

Yet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories. It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Many of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

Aftermath

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped. Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress. He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna. Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

Times staff writer Maria De Cristofaro in Rome contributed to this report.

-----------------------------------------

I wrote a deck and inserted a couple of subheads. I added a mini-list of the main facts of the earthquake. I also linked to a few web pages and bolded key figures. I organized and separated content with en dashes as well. I put a picture at the top instead of the video that was originally there.

The calls from America kept coming but Paolo Paolucci's answer stayed the same:

"Gabriella is dead."The AftermathA sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing. Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

A Quiet VillageYet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories. It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Mourning Those LostMany of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped. Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress. He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

Trying to Move OnHe turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna. Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

The main changes I tried to make were in bolding certain words that I felt really added emotion and feeling to the story. I chose those words that were very descriptive of the village before and after the quake.

I didn't think that any of the paragraphs were really too long, so I left those alone. I also tried to add some pictures throughout the post to create some word breaks and interesting visuals to keep readers reading as well as adding some sub-heads to the text to break up the article a little bit.

I added two lists, one at the top and one at the bottom. I wanted to sum up the main facts of the quake at the very top so I placed that list before the first sentence of the article. Then for my links, I added another list at the very end of the post so people could read more if they so choose.

The calls from America kept coming but Paolo Paolucci's answer stayed the same:

"Gabriella is dead."

A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing. Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.A devastating disaster

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

Yet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories.

It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

"A small village razed to the ground"

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said. "I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Many of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

What was left

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped. Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress. He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow. His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields. But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

The Toll

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna.

Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

Story changes: My first goal in reformatting this story was to break it up and make it more readable in a blog format. I tried to separate long paragraphs and give the story multiple subheads. By doing this and adding links within the story, I think it became less arduous.

I also decided to add in a story summary in the beginning to give the bare facts of the story. It is more of a long-form narrative, so I thought it was important for the reader to come away with the bare bones if they were skimming. If they made it to the end, however, I wanted them to have additional reading on the topic, so I linked to a few recent stories.

A sigh, a gasp, and in the near distance, the sounds of hands and clawed machines digging at the stone, mortar and splintered wood of broken homes and crumpled bell towers scattered for miles in eerie heaps beneath mountains thick with snow.

Paolucci's elderly mother and sister, Gabriella, were two of the deceased as the toll from Monday's magnitude 6.3 earthquake rose to 228. Eleven people remained missing.

Sniffer dogs barked and scurried, coffins waited, and blue and white tents rose in fields and stadiums to house more than 17,000 left homeless in the Abruzzo region, where winter lingered in the hills and the flatlands were tinged with the pink and white blooms of spring.

No place was hit as hard as Onna, which lost at least 40 residents and most of its beige and curry-colored tile roof buildings.

"Only a few houses are still standing. They'll have to knock everything down," said Ugo de Paudis, a town councilman, who stood in matted grass and mud as townspeople ate donated pasta off plastic plates. "That's why we need to rebuild right here immediately, so there's a sense of future. Otherwise, people will move in with their families in other villages and cities and our community will be lost."

Yet even before the ground shook, ripping streets and shattering the 16th century statue of the Ascending Madonna, this map smudge of 350 people was diminishing year by year; families moving away, the young seeking their fortunes beyond the beet fields and tiny factories.

It was a fate shared by hundreds of Italian hill towns and villages, but the earthquake may have hastened what some in Onna predicted was coming -- the demise of a way of life that to a passerby once looked so sturdy, quaint and pretty.

Prime Minister Visits

Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi visited the region and, according to the ANSA news agency, told the displaced: "We won't leave you alone. Don't worry, the reconstructions will be quick."

Carlo Ludovici, a gray-haired contractor whose clothes were heavy with the dust from his battered house, said he can't bear the prospect of starting over again. He walked in the sunlight past a grazing horse and six smashed cars that looked to have been trampled underfoot by a giant dragon. He teared up, looked away.

"It's a small village razed to the ground," he said.

"I started working when I was 16, but this tragedy has left me without the will to work anymore. Life is tough when you get to be 64, and you don't think the earth will rumble or you'll see bodies of young dead kids.

"There's almost been a death in every house. It's not the life you'd expect. I'd like to move away from it all, go deep into the mountains and become a hermit."

Those Who Died

Many of those who died in Onna were children or young adults. They had been baptized in St. Peter and the Apostles Church, just off Via Alfieri, and they were awaiting the coming Good Friday veneration when Father Cesare leads the procession of the cross through the narrow streets a few hundred yards off the big road that runs along the train tracks toward the heavily damaged medieval city of L'Aquila.

This year there is only rubble; families sitting under trees and tarps, a girl scratching her bandaged eye, a woman in a bathrobe wandering outside in the middle of the day, a cat peeking from the window of a car crammed with blankets and possessions.

Dogs pawed at the debris of a house whose buckled and exposed pastel bedroom walls shone oddly in the sun. The digging machine suddenly stopped.

Townspeople and rescue workers in florescent vests gathered; maybe a twitch of life in a crevice. The dogs and their handlers retreated. Nothing. Those on tiptoes sauntered away with no news.

"They wouldn't be using heavy machinery if there were more survivors," said Maurizio Teofili, the director of a K-9 unit.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

Alessandro Fiumara walked across the field with a painting. It was titled "Angelic Music" and depicted an angel hovering amid musical notes above a fortress.

He had pulled it unscathed from his uncle's house, and he wondered how it could escape damage when so much else was marred, when nights outside are cold and the earth has rippled with nearly 300 aftershocks, including one Tuesday evening with a magnitude of between 5.5 and 5.7.

"It's a miracle this picture survived," he said. "My uncle and his wife are fine, but their two daughters died. It would have been better if the painting had been destroyed and they would have lived."

He turned and looked at the remaining skyline of the village. Ragged, like an unearthed artifact, it rose no more than a few stories, dusty and slumping against mountain shadows and the far away snow.

His family is from Onna, but they left for Rome when he was a child. He comes back summers and Christmases.

"I don't believe in miracles after this," he said. "Life here used to be wonderful. Ninety-year-old people riding bikes and working in the fields.

But now some of the next generation has been taken, and when you lose that. . . . This is not like when you have an earthquake in California or Los Angeles. There is no money here to rebuild."

Paolo's Story

Paolo Paolucci slipped out of the sun and into the shade of a camper. He crossed his legs and ate pasta. His white hair hung shaggy over his brow. His voice was cracked and tired; he answered questions about the church, where he is the prior, and about the families of Onna.

Some of his uncles and cousins moved away decades ago to America. Everyone remembers those times -- emigrants streaming out of hill towns and clambering aboard boats to build cars in Michigan and raise skyscrapers in New York.

Paolucci stayed. He watched, kept the pews clean, the altar buffed.

"When the earthquake happened I had to gather my senses," he said. "I called my mother but no one answered the phone. I went out and dug four people out of the ruins. We left the dead to help the screaming."

In this assignment, I created four different subtopics, so it would make the reader continue to read. This way, the story wouldn't be just one whole topic. Another formatting tool I did to make it easier to read was shorter paragraphs. I tried to make sure that no paragraph was more than three sentences, because when people read online versions of papers, they don't want a novel. Instead, if each section is smaller, it will seem less daunting to read.

I put a picture at the top of the story, because it catches your eye and makes you interested in what happened. I chose the ruble picture since it is a human interest picture. I bolded and italicized key phrases that I thought should stand out, because they added a little extra to the story. Lastly, I added four links to websites and stories that would add more to the story, giving readers more to learn about the topic.